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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24428296">look in your direction</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/vrooom/pseuds/vrooom'>vrooom</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Overwatch (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Food as a Metaphor for Love, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:40:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,429</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24428296</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/vrooom/pseuds/vrooom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesse grunts. “I’d kill for some fries now, bastard,” he says.</p><p>“That’s Commander Bastard to you,” Gabriel retorts automatically. “Stop distracting me."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jesse McCree/Reaper | Gabriel Reyes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>look in your direction</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_ramblings/gifts">writing_ramblings</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>for the 2020 McReyes Exchange</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">“If you could eat anything in the world right now, what would you get?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It takes a few seconds for the question to register. Dazed, Gabriel squints up at Jesse. He’s hovering in Gabriel’s field of vision, smiling down at him. The distant <em>ratatat</em> of gunfire is inching closer to where they’re hunkered down at the drop site.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Anything in the world? Carne asada fries,” Gabriel says, already transported by the thought.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Jesse’s anxious smile turns into a frown as he stares down at Gabriel. “Carne asada? On fries? The concussion must be worse than I thought,” he says, jostling Gabriel as he reaches for the medkit.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“No. You’ve never had carne asada fries before? I thought that New Mexico would have them for sure.” He’s suddenly clearheaded, pushing through the threat of concussion in his indignation.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Jesse lets go of the medkit at Gabriel’s burst of energy. He snorts, resettling himself more comfortably against the wall, coaxing Gabriel to cushion his head in his lap. “C’mon boss, your head’ll be more comfortable here than on the ground.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Grumbling, Gabriel shifts around, fussing unnecessarily as he makes himself comfortable.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I won’t lie in anyone’s lap that doesn’t know what carne asada fries are,” he says petulantly, glaring up at Jesse.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I’ll humor you this once, boss, because I need to keep you awake and talking,” Jesse says. “I know what carne asada is, but why the hell would you pile loose meat on top of fries? Seems messy.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Gabriel hears the shouts growing closer.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">From the way that Jesse’s mouth tightens, brows pinching together, he can hear it too. Determinedly, glancing at his communicator, Jesse returns to bantering with Gabriel. “Go on boss, tell me what I’ve been missing out on.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“It’s not just carne asada,” Gabriel says after a long moment. “You have to start off right, with the fries. A bed of fries, fresh out of the fryer, just enough time for the oil to dry and the friest to get that lightly salted, crunchy exterior. They’re home cut fries, thick enough that you can really get your teeth into it, biting through to get to the fluffy, crunchy interior. There’s always a few fries that are limp and squishy, the perfect counterpoint to how crispy the rest of the fries are.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Jesse grunts. “I’d kill for some fries now, bastard,” he says.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“That’s Commander Bastard to you,” Gabriel retorts automatically. “Stop distracting me. I haven’t gotten to the best part yet.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“How are the fries not the best part?” Jesse grumbles under his breath. Gabriel fixes a gimlet eye on him and he subsides.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“The best part isn’t the thick layer of carne asada that blankets the fries,” Gabriel says when he’s satisfied that Jesse won’t say another word. “It’s not the discrete layers of tomato, shredded cheese, or guacamole. It’s not the cool tartness of sour cream when you dig your fork in and get the perfect bite, a little bit of everything. It’s not the way that all the flavors mingle together.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Gabriel hears the rumbling growl of Jesse’s stomach and he grins.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“The best part is when the fries are in the middle of the table and everyone takes the first bite together. When you look around the table and you see the satisfaction on each face. The heavy comfort in your belly.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Jesse hums. “It’s the friendship,” he says, nodding in understanding.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“No, it’s the food,” Gabriel says. He pauses, thinking hard. “And maybe also the friendship.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Sounds great boss,” Jesse says. Gabriel can’t see the expression on Jesse’s face, but he can hazard a guess based on the amused, faintly placating tone.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The mercenaries aren’t even bothering with stealth, laughing and chattering as they amble towards where they know Gabriel and Jesse are. Gabriel would be annoyed at the lack of respect he merits if he could think beyond the dull pounding in his head and the thought of carne asada fries. Damn, he’s ungry.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Boss? Hey boss, don’t fall asleep on me.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Gabriel feels himself being shaken roughly awake, trying to push through the grogginess towards the tense note in Jesse’s voice.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“ ‘M awake, stop it,” he says, slurring.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Transport’s here, gotta get a move on.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Against a backdrop of yelling and panicked shooting, Jesse lifts Gabriel up, sliding an arm around his shoulder. Slipping his other arm around Gabriel’s waist for support, he drags them both to the transport. Tipping his head back, Gabriel looks at Jesse through half lidded eyes.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You’ll love to learn carne asada fries,” Gabriel says.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Jesse snorts. “Sure boss, whatever you say.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">——</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">“So how’s that GED coming along?” Gabriel asks, knocking Jesse’s hand aside to reach for more tortillas.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Boss,” Jesse whines. “We’re about to eat some lobster tacos and you’re asking me about school?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Gabriel kicks him under the table. “Your annual review was yesterday. Just because we’re out in the field doesn’t mean you’re exempt from review. One of your primary goals last year was to be at the halfway point studying for your GED by now. How’s it progressing?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">By all accounts, Jesse isn’t paying attention to Gabriel. Instead, he’s carefully positioning two small tortillas in his hand, balancing them as he arranges lumps of buttery, steaming lobster meat in an alarmingly large pile before sprinkling some onions and cilantro on top. He eyes the mass critically, pulling the tortillas slightly further apart to accommodate the meat.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Snorting softly to himself, Gabriel takes a bite of his own taco. “Can’t avoid the question, kid.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“GED’s fine,” Jesse says. “Having some trouble with the science concepts, but Winston said he’d be happy to help out.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“That’s good,” Gabriel replies. “Fulfilling your ‘ask for help when you need it’ subgoal.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Jesse hunches his shoulders as he bites into his taco, looking hunted.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Please can we stop talking about my GED and eat some damn lobster?” he asks, mouth full. “We haven’t had anything that wasn’t cold from a can our a pouch in two weeks and I just want to eat this before it gets cold.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Watch your tone firecracker,” Gabriel warns without any heat. “We’re still on the clock and I’m still your commanding officer.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Can we please stop talking about my GED, <em>sir</em>,” Jesse amends himself obediently.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Gabriel relents. He flags down a passing server. “Quiera dos cervezas.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Two beers coming up,” the man says in accented English.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Wincing, Gabriel turns to Jesse. “Is it that obvious?” he demands. The taco lays forgotten on his plate.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Obvious what?” Jesse says, making himself another taco. He detours to spoon some mole on his plate, happily sopping it up with yet another tortilla.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Your table manners are atrocious,” Gabriel informs him flatly. There’s some droplets of salsa in the scraggly beard the kid is growing, untrimmed and bristling with the energy of riotous youthful growth. He indicates the salsa for Jesse to wipe off.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Swatting absentmindedly at his beard, smearing the salsa even further, Jesse waits for him to finish his thought. He chews open mouthed with gusto as the server passes by, deftly sliding two open bottles of beer along the table to them.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Gracias,” Jesse calls out after him, heavily accented but bright.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“That. How does the server know immediately that I’m not Mexican? My accent is pretty passable and it’s not like I look any different from anyone else here,” Gabriel says. He scratches his head through the beanie flattening his hair, disgruntled.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Jesse laughs, spraying taco bits out of his mouth.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Curling his lip back in automatic revulsion, Gabriel flicks bits of taco off his arm.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You hear yourself?” Jesse asks when he’s calmed down. “Not like everyone else? Accent? Boss, you’re six feet tall, 270 pound of pure muscle, the kind you don’t get unless you’ve been well fed and exercise like it’s your damn job. You hide the military part, make it look like maybe you’re just a rich guy looking for some cheap thrills over the border, but you’re definitely not from these parts.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Gabriel makes a visible effort to slouch, drawing his hoodie tighter around himself.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“That ain’t gonna help. If anything, it’ll draw attention to just how much muscle you have,” Jesse drawls, eyes lingering shamelessly over Gabriel’s biceps.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Gabriel clears his throat pointedly, making Jesse smile and swipe up a beer.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You know what’s the biggest tell that you’re not from around here?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“What?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Jesse raises the beer, inclining his head. “We’ve been speaking in English since we got here.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Cursing, Gabriel swipes at his head. Jesse ducks, laughing brightly as he shields his beer. “Thanks for buying the drinks, boss!”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">——</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">“Congratulations on getting that GED kid,” Gabriel says.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He walks in to the remains of a party littered with bottles, confetti, and the sad remains of a cake.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Boss!” Jesse yells, grinning up at him. He throws a half hearted, sloppy salute at him. “Glad you could make it!”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Sorry I’m late. My parents wanted to go over some last minute things with me and that resulted in delayed takeoff,” Gabriel says. He drops a silver, cylindrical object onto Jesse’s lap.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“What the hell is that?” Jesse asks, poking at the squishy foil wrapped object. He squints, bleary-eyed and smelling of cheap whisky.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“That’s for preempting your hangover,” Gabriel says. He feels unaccountably fond as he looks down at Jesse, softly lit in the dim light as he sprawls out languid and loose on the couch.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Everyone else is already lying comatose, passed out or rapidly on the way there. They deserve the break, with how hard they’ve been working the last few months. Everyone’s happy to celebrate Jesse’s success, especially if it means that there’s free booze and food involved.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Go on, open it,” Gabriel says.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Didja get this for me in California? Spending thirteen hours babying food from home, just to share with me. Gee, boss, sounds like you have a soft spot for me.” He winks drunkenly up at Gabriel, so out of it that he’s solemnly blinking both of his eyes at the same time instead.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Quickly covering his laugh with a snort, Gabriel shakes his head.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“In your dreams, kid,” he says.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Pouting, Jesse unwraps the burrito. It’s a little soggy, room temperature, grease stains spreading on the paper wrapper, but Jesse gleefully bites it all the same.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Thanks boss,” Jesse says with his mouth full. His eyes are closed as he chews blissfully.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Gabriel nudges him gently over with his foot, making room to slide down onto the couch himself. He cracks open a beer, making a face at the lukewarm can.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Boss,” Jesse says suddenly.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Gabriel looks over. Jesse is staring at the burrito, then him, with teary eyes.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You ok kid?” Gabriel glances him over, assessing the room to make sure nothing out of the ordinary is happening. “Anything wrong?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Nothing’s wrong,” Jesse says, happily. He’s wiping at his watery eyes, uncoordinated and messy. “It’s just— the burrito.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“What about it?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“There’s <em>fries</em> inside the burrito,” Jesse breathes out prayerfully. He takes a bite, then another as his cheeks bulge out. “California is the best place in the entire world.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Grinning, Gabriel unwraps his own burrito. “Gotta love California burritos for when you’re drunk or hungover to soak up all the alcohol,” he says taking a bite.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I’m takin’ back everything I ever said about California,” Jesse says between breathless mouthfuls. “It can keep doing whatever it wants if they make food like this.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">They sit together in companionable silence, only broken by Jesse’s enthusiastic exclamations. Gabriel’s tired from the long day, racing to make sure that he’s back in time to catch Jesse’s party. It’s worth it, he thinks, to see his subordinate happy.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">As he finishes up his burrito, Gabriel feels a weight on his shoulder. He looks over to see Jesse, half eaten burrito still in hand, asleep open mouthed on his bicep. Jesse snores softly, stinking of booze and Mexican food. He’s a few seconds away from outright drooling, and Gabriel can’t find it in him to push him off. It’s somehow endearing, the way that Jesse’s face softens in sleep.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Easing himself out carefully, Gabriel lays Jesse down comfortably on the couch. Drawing a blanket over Jesse, he lingers to smooth the hair out of his face. The burrito is wrapped up and put on the table in front of him, along with a few bottles of water and painkillers. He’s going to need it tomorrow.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Gabriel goes back to his room, light on his feet.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">——</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">“Sir, I was wondering if I could have a word?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Agent Gao, how can I help you?” Gabriel asks, turning away from his computer. He quickly swipes at his eyes, willing himself to forget the latest casualty report.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“It’s not exactly for me, sir,” the agent says, saluting.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Gabriel inwardly groans. He’s not looking forward to teasing out the complicated threads of whatever new adventure that his subordinates have gotten themselves into. There’s already the threat of a headache pounding at his temples.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Agent, if you could tell me in a minute or less it would be greatly appreciated,” Gabriel says. “And no speaking at triple or quadruple speed. The last time Martinez tried that, he passed out.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Grinning at the memory, Agent Gao nods. “It’s Agent McCree, sir.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“What about him?” Gabriel’s foot twitches and he’s thankful that there’s a solid oak desk between him and his visitors.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Well,” she hesitates.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“A minute, nothing more,” Gabriel warns.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Straightening up, Agent Gao takes a breath. “Agent — I mean Director — McCree has been making the rest of us a little worried recently. He doesn’t look like he gets enough sleep and it doesn’t make any sense because he hasn’t been on call for a mission as far as we can tell. He trades training and watch shifts with everyone who asks, to the point where it seems like he doesn’t get any time off himself. He hasn’t gone off base for the last four months.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“The idiot,” Gabriel growls to himself.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Sir?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Thank you for your concern,” Gabriel says to her. “I’ll be sending out an email, but I don’t mind if everyone knows beforehand that I’m unimpressed with how everyone seems to be switching their schedules around. We will be having a department meeting to discuss this, but Director McCree will be put on leave for the next week, effective immediately. If Director McCree is on duty right now, please cover the rest of his shift and I’ll make it up to you.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Saluting nervously, Agent Gao waits until she’s dismissed to walk out of his office as quickly as possible. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Gabriel sighs deeply, pulling out his phone to text Jesse.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>You’re on mandatory leave effective immediately. Agent Gao is coming to relieve you. </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>What’d I do?</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>You have a full courseload and you’ve been covering shifts again? You haven’t taken leave in the last year and a half and I’m forcing you to. Meet me tomorrow at the transport station. 3 pm, no sweatpants.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You look terrible,” Gabriel says.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Feeling the best I have in a few days,” Jesse responds, stretching. “Fell asleep after Agent Gao relieved me at noon, didn’t wake up until half an hour ago. What’s going on?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You slept for 27 hours?” Gabriel asks, impressed despite himself.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yeah, didn’t even know I had it in myself,” Jesse shrugs, stretching. He’s wearing jeans and a button up, hair drying into soft waves from a shower. There’s a hat in hand, but Gabriel likes him like this, relaxed and shaking off the last of his fatigue.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Hope you’re hungry,” Gabriel says, motioning towards the train.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Where’re we going?” Jesse asks, ambling towards the train. His spurs — ridiculous new affectations that he picked up since their temporary relocation to Watchpoint Grand Mesa — jingle with every step he takes.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“California, where else? We’re heading to San Diego this time. Hope you’re hungry,” Gabriel says, following him.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Jesse whoops enthusiastically, tossing his hat in the air.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Ignoring the questions Jesse pelts at him for the entire hour-long ride on the bullet train, Gabriel grabs Jesse’s cowboy hat, pulling it over his face to take a nap.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">From the look on Jesse’s face, everything is worth it.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Boss, is this even a taco?” Jesse asks, giddily taking in everything on the table. There’s almost more tacos than Gabriel can count, horchata, aguas frescas, and beers dotting the empty areas. Crowded as the store is, Jesse and Gabriel take up an entire table by themselves with the sheer amount of food they ordered.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">In the place of honor is a tray full of mulas, which Jesse eyes apprehensively. “Boss, are these tortilla grilled cheeses? Why the hell is there a plate of pineapple?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Gabriel takes a sip of horchata, appreciating the smooth, sweet cinnamon aftertaste with a satisfied sigh. “That, Jesse McCree, is a mula. Think about it like a taco grilled cheese hybrid. The acidity from the pineapple cuts through the cheese. Put a few bits of pineapple on top like so, take a bite, and be blissfully happy.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Promptly copying Gabriel, Jesse takes a large bite, leaving a waxing crescent-shaped sliver of mula behind.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“The cheese,” Jesse groans, once he swallows his enormous bite. “The everything. Boss, have I mentioned lately how important you are?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Gabriel rolls his eyes.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“No really, how great a leader and mentor you are, how you always sacrifice everything for the workplace,” Jesse’s half sincere smile grows sly, “how you always buy your favorite second in command food.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You’re my only second in command, so by that logic you’re also my least favorite,” Gabriel says.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I’ll take that as long as you keep introducing me to food like this,” Jesse winks at him.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Gabriel’s grateful that the harsh light inside the tiny restaurant washes out all color as he flushes from the wink. Valiantly pushing down the feelings that he refuses to acknowledge, Gabriel grabs a taco. “Come on now, try their al pastor. It’s hands down one of their best.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">——</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">“Director McCree, are you paying attention to the briefing?” Gabriel raises a brow at his second in command, icy as Jesse hastily straightens up, two of four chair legs thumping down to the ground.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yeah boss, ‘course I am,” Jesse says. He looks harried as he scrubs his hand through his hair, making it stick up in different directions.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Snapping the briefing folder closed, Gabriel crosses his arms. “What’s going on Jesse? You’ve been staring out the window for the last fifteen minutes. I was sitting in complete silence and you didn’t even notice. Didn’t spare me so much as a glance. Your situational awareness is shit right now.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Slumping down into the chair, Jesse tucks his chin into his chest. Looking at his hands, he lets out a gusty sigh.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“My last research paper was due last night. I was too busy doing last minute edits and making sure my citations were input properly, and I lost track of the time,” Jesse says. He takes a swig from the enormous mug of coffee next to him, grimacing at it as he notices how cold the cup is.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Then I had to supervise morning PT for the new recruits and then I had to run from that straight here for the briefing—” Jesse cuts himself off, flushing. “Sorry boss, didn’t mean to talk your ear off like that.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Gabriel leans forward. “Your last research paper? Does that mean you’re done with your courses?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yeah, crammed two courses this semester because my advisor told me I could definitely juggle both at the same time. It’d be true if I had a regular 40, hell 60 hour a week job, but no one can anticipate a month long undercover mission in the Amazon basin with no internet. Got it done in the end, though. You’re looking at a 4.0 GPA student this semester and a summa cum laude graduate as of next month.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Gabriel grins widely at him. “Congrats kid,” he says. “Who’d’ve thought the surly, underfed high school dropout I pulled out of jail by the ear would be getting his Bachelors in Public Policy twelve years later?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Shuffling in his seat, Jesse flushes even darker. “Kinda late, don’tcha think?” he mumbles.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Hey,” Gabriel says. He gets up, moving from behind his desk to lean against it, kicking gently at Jesse’s ankle. Look at me. I’m proud of you for what you’ve done. You didn’t want to just do the black ops work, you wanted to legitimize your Overwatch service. No one gets to take that away from you.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I know you stuck your neck out for me, arguing that I should be appointed Director under you without a bachelors, let alone a graduate degree and with my criminal record,” Jesse says. “I just wanna say thanks for believing in me like that, and letting me find my way.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Gabriel smiles. “I just believed in you,” he says. “You did all the work.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Jesse flushes even darker, looking down at his spread hands.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Making a split second decision, Gabriel tosses the folder behind him, onto his desk. “C’mon, I’ve been feeling like a sope or two. Why don’t I treat you for graduating? One last jaunt over to California before Geneva HQ renovations are done and we have to relocate back.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Curious, Jesse bites. “What kind of food are you introducing me to now boss?” he says, already stretching.His shirt rides up just a little, and Gabriel carefully looks only at his face.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“God’s gift to mankind. King Taco.” Gabriel says, sending a quick off a quick email to his secretary. “Thick rounds of fried masa, refried beans, cheese, lettuce, onions, tomatoes, and some crema. I like eating them with ceviche. Something light and fresh and something heavy for the contrast.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Jesse pushes the chair neatly back into place, cracking his neck from side to side as he waits for Gabriel. “Where’s the meat?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Quirking an eyebrow, he scoffs. “Just get some tacos,” he says, heading out the door.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">——</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">“Here.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">A heavy brown bag thunks onto his desk, speckled with grease. Gabriel eyes it, lifting his head up from his desk to look at his visitor. Jesse stands in front of him, grinning triumphantly as he gestures towards the bag.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Go on, open it,” he says. He’s almost bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Wary at the level of energy that Jesse is displaying, Gabriel pokes suspiciously at it.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“It’s not going to bite,” Jesse says impatiently. “Picked it up for you on the way back from the conference.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“That’s right, how was the conference?” Gabriel asks, frowning. “Able to keep a tie all three days this time? No cowboy hat?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I’ll tell you after you open the bag,” Jesse repeats.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Gabriel rips the stapled paper apart, peering inside to find a square styrofoam container and a burrito sized silver cylinder.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Did you?” Gabriel asks, looking hopefully at Jesse.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Jesse nods, grinning hugely at him.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Picking up his phone, Gabriel calls his secretary. “I’m taking my lunch right now,” he says.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Director McCree already asked me to book the next hour for you,” his secretary says dryly. “I assumed it would be for your lunch given the smell coming from his bag.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Aw darlin you know I don’t like it when you call me Director,” Jesse protests, scrunching up his face. “It makes me feel like I should be stuffed in a suit and talk about performance metrics.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“That <em>is</em> part of your job, Director. And if you would like me stop including your title, then please stop calling me <em>darlin’</em>,” the secretary replies tartly before hanging up.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Suppressing his laughter, Gabriel watches Jesse splutter quietly for a few seconds before collecting himself.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Opening the container, Gabriel sighs happily. “Carne asada fries. And the burrito? California?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Nah, boss,” Jesse says. “That one’s a surf n turf.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Gabriel immediately abandons the fries for the burrito, ripping open the foil to eat half of it in three bites. It’s pure bliss. The shrimp are delicately cooked, barely room temperature after the long plane ride back from Los Angeles, but they’re still faintly salty, juicy pillows that break apart cleanly when he bites into them. The steak bits are tender, falling apart with minimal resistance, beans and rice swimming in a peppery cheese sauce that lights up the part of his brain that floods his entire body with serotonin.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Slack with pleasure, Gabriel comes to himself to see Jesse smiling, just a shade too fondly. To his surprise, Jesse doesn’t rein in his affectionate glance when he notices he’s being watched. Instead, he sits down across from Gabriel, opening up the fries.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Remember all those years ago,” Jesse says, handing Gabriel a fork. “That time you got a nasty concussion that laid you out for a week.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“What about it?” Gabriel says, building his perfect first bite of the fries</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I asked you what you wanted to eat most in the world,” Jesse says, digging into the fries with abandon.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Carne asada fries,” Gabriel says before shoving the forkful in his mouth. The fries and carne asada are cold, the toppings are warm. He thinks it’s perfect.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“It’s what started this all,” Jesse says. He sets his fork down. “But you were very specific about the fries. You said that it wasn’t just the fries. It was the satisfaction of sharing it with friends, with knowing that they would have the same comfortable weight in their bellies, the warmth of spending time with each other.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Surprised you remembered that,” Gabriel grunts. “Was years ago.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Jesse sakes his head at Gabriel. “I remember a lot of things, boss. You know what gets me after all these years? The fact that you always bought me the food. You were the one always introducing me to new things, you always had the satisfaction of buying me the food.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I’m paid considerably more than you,” Gabriel points out. “You were my ward, then my trainee, then my subordinate.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yeah, but there’s that other thing too,” Jesse interrupts him, jaw set determinedly.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“What other thing?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Gabriel puts his fork down to look Jesse over critically. He looks nervous, shifty as he pushes the fries away.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“A long time ago, you told me that I could come see you again, when I’m ready. When I have something to bring to the table,” Jesse says, breathing hard like it’s taking every bit of resolve he has to talk.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Falling silent, preternaturally still, Gabriel waits. He feels a faint sliver of hope rising up in him, a tiny tendril that he finally allows to grow.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I got my GED, I got my Bachelors degree, I’m Blackwatch second in command, publicly a Director of Security at Overwatch,” Jesse says, ticking his accomplishments off on his fingers. “Thanks to you, my juvenile record was sealed. I just submitted my first Overwatch public policy white paper for publication.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He shoots a wry smile at Gabriel.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“And, I brought some carne asada fries to the table.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Gabriel groans, throwing his forearm over his eyes.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Tension broken, Jesse laughs, sounding less nervous and more like himself. “All this to say, my feelings haven’t changed over the years. You didn’t shoot me down all those years ago, and I’ve grown since then. Whaddya say?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Smiling, Gabriel comes around the desk to draw Jesse up into a kiss. It's a joyful kiss, full of laughter and feelings finally fulfilled after years of pining. It tastes like onions and cilantro.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Thought you forgot, to be honest,” Gabriel said. “I gave you an out for the future, just in case your feelings changed—”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Let me be the first to tell you that they didn’t,” Jesse interrupts him dryly. Holding him in his arms, Gabriel realizes that Jesse is trembling finely, even as his smile is clear and free from the anxiety that clouded his face earlier.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Were you nervous?” he asks in surprise.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Why wouldn’t I be?” Jesse demands rhetorically. He shifts out of the embrace, pushing Gabriel gently down in the other chair next to him. Pulling the fries back to them, he waves his fork at Gabriel. “Confessing my feelings for Gabriel Reyes twice in fifteen years? Any man would be shaking in his boots.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Gabriel nudges him, the faint hope in his chest bursting to flood him with warmth. “Shut up Jesse. Eat your fries.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">——</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">“Hey boss, you got a minute?” Jesse asks.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Gabriel looks up from the shipment of weapons he’s cataloguing. He crosses his arms, leaning against the wall, waiting to hear what Jesse has to say.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It’s still unfamiliar, difficult bearing the weight of Gabriel’s focus. Liquid dark eyes bore holes into the depths of Jesse’s soul. His hands are sweaty, clenching nervously as he swallows past the lump of nervousness lodged firmly in his throat.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Are the crew being too harsh? You can tell me what it is and I’ll address it. I won’t be mad, as long as you’ve been holding up your end of the bargain,” Gabriel says, breaking the growing silence.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“No.” Jesse’s voice cracks and he winces horribly, clearing his throat before trying again. “No. It’s not— it’s not that.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Gabriel waits patiently.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Jesse’s face heats up.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“IjustwanttosaythatIhavefeelingsforyou,” he mumbles, words slurring together in his haste to get them out before he loses his nerve.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Come again?” Gabriel asks, frowning.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Jesse can feel his face burning impossibly hotter as he chokes out the words slowly. “Feelings. I have them. For you.” He looks down at the floor, not daring to look Gabriel in the eye.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It’s the right thing, he thinks, as the silence stretches on.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“If there isn’t anything else, I’ll leave you to it,” he mumbles, turning on his heel towards the exit.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It’s unfortunate that he’s been selected for the six week leadership training program with the top Overwatch leaders including Gabriel, but he can drop out of it. He can fade into the background and serve out the rest of his enlistment as a grunt and he won’t need to interact with Gabriel anymo-</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Hey, Jesse, come back,” Gabriel says, voice unusually soft.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Hope uncurls itself in his chest. Jesse turns around, sneaking a peek at Gabriel’s face. It’s open, free from scowls, but not smiling. He’ll take the odds.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Jesse, your feelings are noted,” Gabriel begins.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">So, not as promising as he thought.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Don’t give me that frown,” Gabriel chides him. “Kid, look. You’re eighteen. You haven’t finished high school, you’re a felon and an accessory to war crimes as a minor. You’re part of the black ops arm to a United Nations sanctioned operation and you regularly forget to shower.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Scowling even harder, Jesse crosses his arms defensively over his chest. “Don’t think it matters when the guy you like committed war crimes and is the head of said black ops division,” he grumbles mutinously at his shoes. He sniffs himself surreptitiously, thinking about the last time that he showered. Wasn’t more than two days ago, he’s sure of it.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You mean a West Point graduate, one of the youngest Brigadier Generals in United State military history, an Omnic War hero, and current head of a United Nations mission,” Gabriel says, raising a brow at him. He stretches, straightening up from his slouch against the wall.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Jesse slumps back, chewing the inside of his cheek. “If you’re trying to tell me you’re not interested, you just had to say no,” he says, hope curling tightly back up into a ball. “You don’t have to intimidate me by telling me all the things that you’ve done, all the things that I can’t ever live up to.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Gabriel shakes his head sharply. “You’re a firecracker. Everything sets you off and you never wait,” he informs Jesse. “I’m not telling you these things to boast. I’m saying it so what I tell you next will make sense.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Jesse waits.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t bring a lot to the table,” Gabriel says. “You want a chance? Be the top of the leadership training program. I know you don’t want to participate. Get your GED. Go to college. Make friends outside of your ops team. Maybe you’ll find someone else that you like more, but the point is that you need to work on what you can bring, not what a relationship might get you.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Gabriel picks up his clipboard and opens the door. “When you think you’re ready, come see me again,” he says, calling over his shoulder. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>all the places they go to are real places that i've been to before.</p><p>come find me on <a href="http://twitter.com/saltyeggies">twitter</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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